#the disruption of the fairy tale

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

Horror films and themes about the anxieties of new generations and yes a lot of them are apocalypse stories now and anti-capitalist and distrust of the wealthy and politicians

but I’m particularly enjoying the bloodied bride trend that’s occurring

[divinelyparkjimin]

— bodyguard [m] | knj.

◦ summary ↠ amidst a swirl of emotions sparked by a jealous encounter at a ball, it seems like guarding isn’t the only thing your bodyguard will be doing to your body.

◦ pairing ↠ namjoon x reader

◦ word count ↠ 3.2k

◦ genre ↠ smut, fluff, angst (barely)

◦ content warning(s) ↠ bodyguard au, daddysgirl!reader, bodyguard!namjoon, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, suggestive/explicit content, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), cunnilingus, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm

a/n: it has been way too long but i am here :) enjoy!

masterlist

Your legs were glued together, fingers tracing the detailing on your dress as you trembled in the backseat of your dad’s car.

Why did I even agree to this? You couldn’t help but think to yourself.

Your dad was one strong man. Not physically. Not emotionally. But the man’s social status was beyond imagination. Since the man had grown up networking his way to success, he’d wanted you to do the same for yourself, rather than mooch of his own accomplishments. And sure, he could just be looking out for you, protecting you from becoming just another nepo baby out in the world, but you were too nervous for this.

One of the largest networking events in Seoul was to take place in about 30 minutes and you would not be saved from it. In fact, you were on your way there.

Your young, but fairly attractive bodyguard, Namjoon, had offered to take you. While the experience would be shy of a nervous wreckage, you were still relieved he’d be there with you. A single familiar face is better than none.

“You okay?” You were instantly interrupted in the midst of your thoughts. You could see Namjoon’s eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, I’m just super nervous about this whole thing.” You heaved a sigh. “How do I know if people will even like me after this? What if I just make a complete fool out of myself?”

You could hear a soft chuckle leave Namjoon’s mouth.

“You’re just overthinking, Y/N. I know you’ll do great.” The boy reassured you with a smile. You returned the smile before turning to your side to see you’d already arrived. The smile on your face quickly faded.

Namjoon got out of the car and scurried over to open your door, assisting you out of the car. Your legs instantly weakened as soon as you stepped out—the nervousness was definitely getting to you.

You stared blankly at Namjoon who was waiting until you’d situated yourself to continue forward. Seeing him out of the car, you gave yourself a moment to take in his appearance. The sleek suit he wore hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized his strong physique, something you never noticed before. His dimples were out as his lips curled upward into a soft smile. You realized you were probably staring at him a little too long and decided to break the silence.

“Sorry, haha, I’m ready to go now.” You straightened out your dress before putting out a thumbs up.

“As you wish, captain.” The boy cheekily nodded before turning to the side with his arm out to direct you ahead.

Upon stepping into the ballroom, you realized how fancy this place truly was. The ballroom unfolded before you like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, casting a cascade of golden light that danced upon the polished marble floor. Tables adorned with fine linens and sparkling silverware were strategically placed, surrounded by elegantly dressed guests engaged in animated conversations.

Upon your entry, you were immediately greeted with a bow and offered a glass of wine by a waiter dressed in fully white attire. You took the glass in your hands and made your way to your seat with Namjoon following closely behind.

The echo of your own name disrupted your thoughts as you plopped down into your seat. Startled, you looked up, and there, standing before you, was Taehyung. It took a moment for recognition to dawn, realizing that the familiar face belonged to a boy you used to be really good friends with in your younger days.

Back when you were 7-8 years old, you and Taehyung were inseparable, spending countless hours playing together. However, life took an unexpected turn when Taehyung had to relocate to Switzerland with his dad when you turned 13. The departure, though abrupt, was an inevitable change that left behind fond memories of your shared childhood adventures.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Taehyung said, placing a hand on your exposed shoulder before trailing it down to your lower back. Namjoon’s eyes instantly directed to Taehyung’s hand placement, a hint of sourness becoming apparent on his face.

“It really has, I was starting to think you might’ve died.” You joked, your playful tone cutting through the subtle tension.

“Hey, I wouldn’t die without telling you. We had some pretty great memories back then, you know?” Taehyung reassured you, but your attention was drawn to his lingering gaze, which traversed the entirety of you before settling back on your face. “You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks, I try.” You replied, trying to keep the conversation casual as you subtly shifted away from his lingering touch. The atmosphere held a mixture of nostalgia and the present with Namjoon’s watchful eyes capturing every detail.

“You know, I’m actually back in Seoul again. I’d love to meet with you sometime, maybe not with so many people around.” Taehyung suggested with an eyebrow raised. “You up for it?”

Namjoon cleared his throat, interjecting, “Sorry to bother, but I think Y/N is needed for something.” The interruption carried a hint of possessiveness but the huskiness in his voice was oddly attractive. “I’m sure she can get back to you later.”

“Oh okay, no problem then.” Taehyung seemed disappointed, but complied anyway, moving his eyes to you. “I’ll see you around then?” With two fingers, he flicked outward from his head to signify his parting before walking elsewhere.

Filled with curiosity, you turned to Namjoon. “What’s the thing you said I’m needed for?” The boy’s eyes widened slightly before he began to scrunch his face in a bit of discomfort. “I actually think I might’ve made a mistake with that, I apologize Y/N.”

“Don’t worry about it okay?” You replied. He nodded, unable to make eye contact with you.

Throughout the night you spoke to a variety of different people: people you’d known long ago, people you’d never met, and people you’d only ever think to meet in your dreams. After a long, tiresome night, it was finally time to head back home.

As you made your way towards the car, the air felt charged with an unspoken tension. Namjoon held the car door open, but there was a subtle stiffness in his demeanor. As you slid into the seat, you couldn't ignore the silent discomfort that lingered between you and Namjoon.

During the drive, the atmosphere inside the car was palpably different. Namjoon's usual ease seemed replaced with a quiet reserve. The hum of the engine filled the space between you, accentuating the unspoken tension. It wasn't long before you couldn't resist addressing the shift in the air.

"Namjoon, is everything okay?" You asked, your voice gentle but concerned.

He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "Yeah, everything's fine," He replied, but the unease remained evident.

"No, something's off. You've been acting a bit distant," you pressed, your intuition picking up on the subtle changes.

Namjoon hesitated for a moment, then admitted, "It's just... seeing you with Taehyung back there. I couldn't help feeling a bit... jealous."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, "Jealous? Namjoon, he's just an old friend."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I know, it's irrational. But seeing you with him, it triggered something. I guess I just... care about you more than I thought."

The revelation hung in the air, and as you processed his words, a warmth crept into your chest. "Namjoon, you don't have to be jealous.”

As the car eased into a secluded spot, the quiet darkness enveloping you, you couldn't help but voice the thoughts that had been lingering in your mind. The revelation about Namjoon's jealousy had opened a door, and now it was time to let your feelings be known.

"I have to admit," You began, a playful glint in your eye, "I couldn't help but eye you all night. You looked so good in that suit, and, well, I've always had a bit of an attraction to you, both emotionally and, I can't deny it, physically."

Namjoon's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and a spark of something else. The air between you shifted again, this time with a newfound acknowledgment of mutual desire

“You mind if I join you back there?” The sudden comment by Namjoon caught you by surprise and you could feel your cheeks grow hot. You nodded your head enthusiastically, moving over to make space for him in the back as he made his way over.

The back door opened and closed behind Namjoon who was now sitting right beside you, his face inches from yours. His intense stare remained connected with yours as you took this time to admire his face. Somehow, he managed to look even better up close. The soft creases into his face where his dimples were became visible as a small grin creeped upon his lips at the sight of you.

He seemed to be growing closer to you, nodding his head as if to ask if he could continue. You nodded back and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. His hand cupped the side of your face, guiding you into a rhythm. The kiss was slow and passionate with a bit of roughness to it.

You both reveled in the sensation as your hands explored each other's forms. Your hand slid down his chest while you slowly pressed the rest of your body closer to him. Your leg was swung over his thigh, his hand gripping it tightly.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Namjoon growled, pulling his face back to admire yours. His face was soon found buried in your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin beside your collarbone. You felt tingles as his tongue wet your skin, sucking harder and harder. He parted from your neck not allowing much time to pass before making contact with your skin yet again.

His hand that was on your thigh slid down your frame to lift your dress up. It was then that you could feel the warmth of his hands on your ass cheeks. He used the tips of his fingers to trace circles into your skin, shooting a stimulating sensation throughout your body. You whimpered out, thrusting your hips against his crotch as if to beg for more.

Soon enough, Namjoon’s hands found their way to the back of your dress, fingertips fixed on your zipper. He pulled it down and helped you remove the dress, eyes glued to your figure. The sultry look in his eyes was enough to leave your panties drenched, something he seemed to have noticed upon the removal of your dress.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Can I touch?” He requested, removing the suit jacket off his own body.

“Yes, please touch me. I need you right now.” You begged, your face scrunched up in ecstasy. Namjoon’s face brightened up at your keenness.

“Mind if I use my tongue? It’s dying to taste you.” His hands seemed to be a step ahead as they were already gripping the band of your panties, quickly pulling them down your legs.

As you were about to respond, Namjoon’s face was already between your legs, his tongue pressing right against your clit. A high pitched moan escaped your mouth at the sudden sense of pleasure that exploded within your body. Without warning, his tongue slid right over your clit yet again, before making tiny circles around the area. He’d tease around the flesh before swiping his tongue against it harder than the last time, leaving you moaning breathlessly.

“F-Fuck!” You screamed out in pleasure, grinding your hips against his tongue to accentuate the feeling. You pressed Namjoon further into your pussy with your hand that was placed at the back of his head, desperately wanting to feel more. He could feel your desperation and only went harder and faster. You could feel the tension slowly building up as you grew closer and closer to your release.

Your head was thrown back in delight and you basked in the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

“N-Namjoon, f-faster, please!” You could barely manage to get the words out, panting and moaning uncontrollably. Namjoon adhered to your guidance, quickening the pace and pressure of his tongue’s movements along your folds, focusing most of it on your clit. “F-Fuck, I’m close!” You whined, nearing your finish. Responding to your feedback, Namjoon decided to suck hard on your clit, something that seemed to just flip a switch inside of you. Almost instantly, you could feel yourself entirely give out. A profound, pulsating euphoria seemed to course through your veins, rendering you utterly consumed by the sheer bliss that embraced you from head to toe. You came.

“You taste so good, Y/N.” Namjoon pulled back with a huge grin on his face, licking his lips.

“Do I now? So when do I get to taste yours?” You teased.

“You want it?” Namjoon looked down to his own crotch where you could see a boner battling to escape his tight black dress pants. You nodded eagerly, not wasting any time before beginning to unbuckle his belt. Once you were able to get the belt off, you threw it off to the side to continue unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He slid them off his legs, left with his black boxers on. He hurriedly unbuttoned his dress shirt before nearly ripping it off his body.

With his shirt and pants out of the way, you were able to make out the outline of his shaft. It looked way bigger than you’d imagined, something you can’t help but admit to wondering about in the past. You found yourself near salivating at the pure thought of the man’s length, quickly fixing your hands on the band of his boxers.

“You’re quite the eager one, aren’t you? Why don’t you say please for me first, princess?” The mere usage of the nickname had your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“Please, Namjoon. Let me suck your cock.” Your enchanting eyes seemed to work perfectly on Namjoon as he placed a soft kiss on your lips before letting out a small chuckle.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N. Go right ahead, it’s all yours.” You pulled down at the band of Namjoon’s boxers, revealing his long, hard cock. It sprung out as soon as the band had fallen below it, as if waiting for your mouth to find its place on it.

As its outline had previously displayed, his manhood was indeed big. It had a slight curve to it and was a rosy shade of pink with veins taking shape along it. After indulging in your moment of admiration, you positioned your face before it, wrapping one of your hands around the bottom of his shaft. You looked up at him before proceeding, noticing the way his lustful eyes followed your every movement.

Wanting to start slow, you stuck your tongue out, gliding it along his hard member. You started with a small area but went back again, licking from the bottom of his balls to the tip. He let out a low grunt as you noticed his cock twitch in excitement. You quickened your pace, watching Namjoon’s face respond to the contact of your tongue.

“You’re so good at this, fuck.” Namjoon moaned, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were locked on you as he watched you have your way with his cock. After you’d gotten enough of the licking, you decided to go even further, placing your lips atop his throbbing hard-on. You could taste the pre-cum that lightly coated his tip, scaling his cock further into your mouth. You tightened the suction of your lips, bobbing your head up and down to a steady rhythm.

“You know, I never thought I’d get to see your pretty face on my cock.” Namjoon uttered breathily in a low tone. “I’m a lucky guy, aren’t I?” Too caught up in pleasing him to respond, you continued to suck and began stroking his cock at the same time to increase the pleasure. Namjoon was starting to grow close and you went faster, wanting to make him cum faster. Before he could finish, he pulled himself out to which your head turned up to stare at him with a confused look on your face.

“I’d rather save my cum for your pussy. Don’t wanna miss out on seeing you all filled up.” Namjoon placed a kiss on your lips before directing you further. “Lean back and spread those legs out, princess.”

You quietly but swiftly followed his directions.

“You’re on the pill, right?” Namjoon questioned, with a bit more of a serious expression. You nodded, allowing him to proceed. He positioned his crotch in front of yours before slowly inching his dick right into your hole. You moaned loudly upon his entrance, which was followed by several other thrusts.

The thickness of his shaft filled you up entirely, allowing you to feel its every detail and contour against your walls.

“F-Fuck your cock is so b-big!” You whimpered as Namjoon continued to slam his meat faster and deeper into your moist cave, with no sign of slowing down.

“Yeah? Tell me more, Y/N. I wanna hear how good my cock makes you feel.” Namjoon’s alluring tone had you captivated.

“I like how it f-fills me up! A-And how l-long it—aah!” You struggled to get any words out, but tried to remain compliant.

“It does fill you up, huh?” Namjoon smirked as you couldn’t help but moan out. He was relentless with his thrusts, going harder and harder. He didn’t seem to be tiring out whatsoever and was pressing further toward your g-spot with every thrust. The sight of his toned torso and thrusting hips into you was a view you just couldn’t get sick of.

“Fuck, Namjoon!” You screamed out as he slammed his tip against your g-spot. You could feel the contact of the flesh send tingles throughout the rest of your body and could only grow desperate for more. “Please, d-don’t stop, faster!” Your pressing whimpers only motivated Namjoon further. He seemed to really be getting the hang of it as he repeatedly hit your g-spot, helping you rapidly grow even closer to a finish.

“A-Ah, I’m close, Namjoon! I-I don’t think I can hold it!” You whinged as Namjoon thrusted even faster. Your moans grew in pitch and volume as you reached your climax, realizing that Namjoon had also reached his own when you’d felt a warm runny liquid seep out from your core.

You were left panting, as was Namjoon, the two of you left with the giddiest of expressions on your face. As the lingering bliss settled between you and Namjoon, a comfortable silence enveloped the air. He gently placed kisses on your forehead and lips, and despite the intimate moment, a hint of shyness crept in, painting your cheeks a rosy hue.

In the quiet aftermath, Namjoon broke the tranquility with a nervous laugh, his gaze meeting yours

"You don't think your dad will fire me after this or anything, right?"

a/n: unedited but i hope you guys still like! feel free to leave thoughts and comments woo

masterlist

[fandomsandfeminism]

Oh no, a writers and actors strike!

New media production might be disrupted?

What a perfect time to....

Read some Discworld by Terry Pratchett.

Recommendations for first books:

Guards! Guards! (First of the City Watch books. Pokes a lot of fun at fantasy tropes but is smart as a whip.)

Going Postal (Con man must save a crumbling civic institution. He's great at it! )

Witches Abroad (fairy tales and grouchy old women, with jokes)

Hogfather (Christmas-y, but also about what it means to be a person, with jokes.)

Small Gods (faith, a talking tortoise, and an existential crisis, but with jokes!)

Monsterous Regiment (cross dressing and the inherent cultism of military nationalism. Also jokes.)

[pupyr0arz]

Selkie soap is SUCH an idea bc like. Obviously he knows how to hide his pelt, like Jesus. That kind of stuff you read in fairy tales hardly happens anyways, his mom gave her pelt willingly and all but he’s got zero intents. It goes in a lockbox unless he’s wearing it no need to look at it twice cause he’s having fun on the streets. Like who even needs long term relationships.

cue ghost, existing. Cue 6 seasons of soap trying to get him to actually just take his goddamn ‘jacket’ and keep it for fucks sake Lieutenant no it is not tacky you can just have it stop leaving it at my place and returning it for the love of Christ of all the things you don’t steal it’s just the jacket because ghost absolutely takes keepsakes 24/7 he’d take the wrapper of soaps gum and probably does the weirdo

ghost actually knowing soap is a selkie and 100% refusing to take his coat by mistake cause he loves soap absolutely and he’d be wrecked if he left but he knows soap isn’t the type to live in bondage well honestly it’s just not worth it to disrupt the nice relationship they have going on and he likes the situation as it is until he picks up on the fact that it’s intentional which goes straight to his dick so maybe he’s prolonging this a bit on purpose but come on it is really hot how soap is offering his freedom on a platter to him he can get away with playing dumb another month

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Can I have mini headcanons on how the M6 act at someones wedding please?

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6 at a friend's wedding

Julian: keeps getting teary-eyed because it's so beautiful, notices anyone looking lonely and pulls them in to the festivities

Asra: happy to celebrate the couple as their friend but unlikely to get caught up in the fairy tale feeling. DJs the reception as his gift

Nadia: brings the most generous gift for the couple, will make the perfect speech if asked, keeps everything organized

Muriel: stays in the back the whole time to avoid spoiling the vibes ... and to keep any eye out for anyone on the "not invited" list

Portia: collecting all the tea on the wedding party while she keeps any drama from getting big enough to disrupt anything

Lucio: the partier - "I love weddings! Drinks all around!" most likely to spin so much during dancing that he makes himself sick

[prideofcelestia]

❝ when he sees your baby pictures ❞

« characters - lucifer, leviathan, satan, belphegor, barbatos, mephistopheles »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

« notes - repost from my old blog so there's a chance you might have read it »

LUCIFER

Lucifer drinks the pictures in — his face relaxing into a tender expression. When he tries remembering the last time he had felt laughter fill his chest at the sight of a baby picture, his mind goes back to his days in the Celestial Realm when he had more patience. Words spill from his lips before he can stop himself.

“[Name], you looked like an absolute angel…”

A faint blush graces his cheeks as he realises that in his mind, he just placed you in the same place as all the bright cherubims he had seen as an angel. You put his heart at ease so he takes one of the pictures for his own. Try as you may but that is his property now. He loves to look at it when he’s feeling extremely stressed. 

Grinning to himself, he muses, “Time is short for a human… yet their company is so precious.”

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan laughs. “LOLOL such normie baby clothes!”

One would think that he was born wearing Ruri-chan cosplay. The other brothers call him out on his behaviour and refuse to show him your pictures so he pouts and throws a tantrum about how the world is unfair to otakus like him!

When he gets his hands on your baby photographs (after quite the struggle, in his words), he’s thrilled and looks at it with awe. With every passing second, his cheeks get more coloured before he closes his eyes and covers his face with the back of his hand. 

How were you so cute as a baby?! He thought they were meant to be awkward and silly. Even though you have some embarrassing pictures, he… he wants to hold the baby you! He has an amazing assortment of toys that will keep you entertained. Just stay away from his precious figurines! 

“Leviathan took 9000 damage. This is soooo moe w’aaaah. How is a simple otaku such as myself supposed to react?!”

SATAN

Satan looks at your pictures with utmost concentration. Every time his brothers talk about what a cute munchkin he was (*looks at Asmo*) or what a ball of mischief he was (*looks at the entire population of the Devildom*), he feels irritated. His childhood reminds him of the circumstances of his birth and how he wasn’t there with his brothers when it mattered. Owing to the uneasiness, he’s not particularly fond of children — unless it’s a whiskered baby. His arms are always open for kittens.

Seeing you in the pictures, however, makes his heart flutter in a way he has never felt before. He wants to protect and cherish you, fill your life with books and cat plushies.  The urge is so strong that he runs out of the house — his head still full of baby you — as he buys every item that he would like to pass on to a beloved child. The mountain of stuffed toys that you have no use for makes you want to scream as you fix a questioning glance at him. To be honest, there are some fairy tale books you have never seen before so it isn’t a complete waste.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor takes a quick glance at the picture and returns to his nap. With a cheek pressed against his pillow, he mumbles, “Hmmm, you were a cute baby.”

The lack of reaction makes you want to move on but he won’t let you. Grabbing your arm, he pulls you to the bed and whispers in your ear.

“[Name], you looked really soft in the picture. Now I want to cuddle you. It’s your fault for making me feel this way so you’ll take responsibility, won’t you? Don’t move a lot and let me enjoy it.”

He has burned the image in his mind and can’t help dreaming about the baby you giggling up at him. It’s soft and makes him feel peaceful.

Don’t get him wrong. He’s not a fan of children — babies in particular, because they are loud and their cries disrupt sleep. However, seeing the eyes that he loves look back at him from the picture ironically makes him want to protect you.

BARBATOS

Barbatos thinks that you were adorable back then. Not that a lot has changed but some detail about your first years warms his heart like a cup of fine tea.

He knows that baby pictures are a source of embarrassment for most because he often found Diavolo flustered when the matter of his innocent days was brought up. He’s amply experienced with kids to know how to tease you about it and oh boy, this demon uses his knowledge to good use.

“Oh, [Name], I have a gift for you… I happened to see your photo album.” That’s his way of informing you that he’s well versed in your past photos, “I noticed that you wore this colour quite frequently during childhood. However, remember not to spill food all over it anymore. Okay?”

He’ll never let you outlive it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Mephistopheles squeals. Babies are amazing — be it crawling in front of you or in pictures. He snatches the photos away from whoever is holding those as a huge grin appears on his lips.

He’s usually gruff with you while also being gentle (read as tsundere) but now, he’s saying how fascinating it is to look at your life as a baby. He comments on all your pictures and thinks that your activities back then were adorable.

“Look at them playing… Look at them sitting… It’s a balm for the heart.”

He gets so excited that he tries to find similarities between the baby you and the present you just so that he has an excuse to hold onto the pictures for longer without appearing overly affectionate.

[icyolive]

Fairy tale-ish AU where the Cloud Recesses arc still happens, but LWJ is widely known to be suffering some kind of stone heart curse that prevents him from Feelings. The Lan have tried everything, but their precious second jade cannot be thawed. They can't even identify the curse. It's tragic. And very Lan. He's probably acquired some ridiculous honorific about it because *slaps LWJ* you can fit so many titles in this bad boy.

Then WWX shows up, runs into LWJ, and like... this guy... is hilarious?

Like, WWX is immediately Fascinated by this guy that everyone keeps saying is a tragically frigid perfect upright Lan. Because the guy is clearly full of quiet simmering rage (okay mostly just annoyance) and deeply, deeply bitchy. He's fun to provoke. He gets all of WWX's literary puns. He's got this hilarious deadpan humor that... like... how is no one else seeing this?

Novel WWX was hooked pretty early, but with the mystery of this curse that no one can explain, WWX fixates hard and picks up on a lot of what he otherwise would've missed.

He tries a million different curse breaking techniques. Works on it in class and has less time to bother LQR with shenanigans. Drags LWJ to the library to research, instead of being dragged there to copy lines.

He talks to LWJ instead of provoking him (he still provokes him). Notices LWJ is sad. awkward. speaks like his friends are all books. Gives him the benefit of the doubt, at first, because the poor guy's cursed.

WWX asks what kind of curse it is: no one knows. They can't even find a curse mark. No purification ritual has ever worked.

What do they think it is? For a long while, it was thought to be a curse from his mother, and that she hadn't wanted to deal with such a fussy child. When did they tell him that? Around the time when he was taken from her, just after uncle told him that his crying was unacceptably disruptive. Being disruptive meant he would miss his monthly visit. (LWJ has no idea why this is all spilling out of him. He says it all with what he thinks is a blank face, so it's not like he's making a scene. WWX hears the bitter humor in his phrasing, the sadness in his thousands-yard stare. He shares what he can remember about his own parents.)

The current theory is a love curse; they've been introducing him to eligible young women for the last few years, to see if they could break it. (Because he's Paying Attention and LWJ's face does a Thing, WWX adds super gay to his mental list of LWJ's attributes.)

"Lan Zhan... u know ur not cursed right."

Turns out, and no one's surprised here (somehow everyone but WWX is surprised here) this so-called curse is just the cumulative effect of the Lan repeatedly traumatizing and isolating this kid in various ways more or less since birth.

Maybe it's a complete surprise. Maybe LWJ had some inkling. Maybe he knew, but couldn't find the words to explain to anyone. Maybe he's like "yeah no shit but it made them leave me alone."

So yeah I've been having a lot of Feelings about how WWX is just utterly delighted by LWJ. Not despite his personality, not trying to fix him--he's just a dork who's head over heels for his gorgeous bitchy husband who talks like a book.

[chthonic-cassandra]

The marvels and prodigies, the seven-league boots and enchanted mirrors, the talking animals [...] the stars on the brow of the good sister and the donkeytail sprouting on the brow of the bad - all the wonders that create the atmosphere of the fairy tale disrupt the apprehensible world in order to open spaces for dreaming alternatives. The verb 'to wonder' communicates the receptive state of marvelling as well as the active desire to know, to inquire, and as such it defines very well at least two characteristics of the traditional fairy tale: pleasure in the fantastic, curiosity about the real. The dimension of wonder creates a huge theatre of possibility in the futures: anything can happen. This very boundlessness serves the moral purpose of the tales, which is precisely to teach where boundaries lie. The dreaming gives pleasure in its own right, but it also represents a practical dimension to the imagination, an aspect of the faculty of thought, and can unlock social and public possibilities. [...] The enchantments also universalize the narrative setting, encipher concerns, beliefs and desires in brilliant, seductive images that are themselves a form of camouflage, making it possible to utter hard truths, to say what you dare. The disregard for logic, all those fairy tale non-sequiturs and improbable reversals, rarely encompasses the emotional conflicts themselves: hatred, jealousy, kindness, cherishing retain an intense integrity throughout. The double vision of the tales, on the one hand charting perennial drives and terrors, both conscious and unconscious, and on the other mapping actual, volatile experience, gives the genre its fascination and power to satisfy. At the same time, uncovering the context of the tales, their relation to society and history, can yield more of a happy resolution than the story itself delivers with its challenge to fate: 'They lived happily ever after' consoles us, but gives scant help compared to, 'Listen, this is how it was before, but this could change - and they might.'

Marina Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 21: The Concert

Every time they're not on camera I simultaneously feel so relieved for them and so upset that I don't get to watch. Messed up of me, but hey. Remember that slightly disturbing quote where Paul said he actually does believe he's kind of public property and he's fine with that?

He looks so determined. Like the fairy tale prince staring down the dragon or Enjolras about to hijack a funeral (Literally my baby was conceived after I watched this in IMAX so if that tells you anything about my feelings . . . I'm going to be annoying I'm sorry I can't help it)

Her legs look so good in those tights! I love that Mo came not because her boyfriend needs his mommy but because she wants to see them perform! Kissing her on the mouth right now.

Danger boy Paul!

Fun fact, I was this John for Halloween in 2021 to a college party. My hair was already like that, and I had dirty white keds and black jeans, so I just did fake sideburns, fake glasses, and a fake fur coat. I tried to get my best friend to be Paul. She wanted to be a hooker, and I was like “It’s the same thing!”

See, look at him and his whorish ways!

John’s little lip-bit smile. He’s so happy with himself nailing that solo. Cutie. 

Cocky boys. As they should be. I love when they’re proud of their work together. Get Back is 95% just Looks between John and Paul, isn’t it?

John and Paul instantly jump into their little “humble working class entertainers” act. You know what just occurred to me? You know how they talked about the “rattle your jewelry” comment backstage and Paul dared John to say it? I wonder if they talked about the “audition” comment too.

It really is a beautiful thing they’re doing. It’s lovely, watching everyon leave their desk jobs and their shopping and whatever else to sit in their fire escapes and congregate in the street and huddle together on rooftops. It really is just like the happy end in a sixties zeitgeist movie. 

All the girls nervous to be too enthusiastic after years of being made fun of themselves and watching others like them being mocked on TV. Let girls like things, damnit!

Mo jamming! I’m in love.

John mouthing Paul’s lyrics.

“Paul McCartney singing that. What a voice.” Literally me if time travel existed. 

“And if SOMEBODY loved me like she does,” Well, it is good manners to look at the person you’re talking to, I guess. But you do have an audience, John. And a mic and a camera. 

“Absolutely disrupt all the business in this area.” Yes! Get those blue meanies, boys!

“No lay rishi gahd blay bloojaygoo” should replace all the stupid quotes the Lennon estate puts on everything they sell. Then I’d actually want their shit. Paul trying to magic the words from his head into John’s there. Successfully, though.

That “Pleeeeeheeeeease” is one of the prettiest beatles vocal moments. I love it with all my heart. And clearly, so does Paul. Doing that thing he does, inappropriately thrusting into his bass. 

Oh my gosh it’s the song Paul and John do together on tour right now!

That “Yyyyyeeeeeah, yeaaaaaah!” (I mean the whole song, the whole concert, but especially that) does things to me. 

John’s extremely blurry, because he turned his head quick enough to give him whiplash there, sorry everyone. But look! They’re having the time of their lives! They just love performing together so much!

Everyone goes to check on their accumulating audience. (except Paul. Wonder what that’s about.)Ringo’s little pleasantly surprised smile is so so sweet!

It must be so fun for them to be performing One after 909 again after all these years. Bitter sweet with everything that’s changed since then. 

LMAO Kevin thank you for your service!

He’s a silly cutie.

The mic in the street asking that girl if she’d like them to come back every lunchtime. Imagine if they did? How cute would that be? Like back to their cavern lunchtime shows. Maybe that could’ve saved them.

Them playing God Save the Queen reminds me of that story where Brian was like, “This bigger manager wants to buy your contract from me, and I just wanted to be straight with you. They could probably get better deals for you.” and they were like, “If you sell us to him we’re only playing God Save the Queen from that moment on.” It’s probably a fake story, but that’s what it made me think of. 

I always think that quote of Paul’s is so strange, where he was like “I never got the chance to watch John while we were playing.” Like. What are you talking about, baby?

Literally “Uh. Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” Fucking his bass. Staring at John. Okay? And I’m not supposed to take that and run with it? I’m not supposed to assume from that that you want to fuck your songwriting partner?

I think he genuinely wants to get arrested. I really do. I think he wants them all to get arrested so they can finally be alone in a room together. A lovely cell for four. Just shimmying at them. And Billy looking at him like, Bro. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Paul’s “woo” and shimmy :: John’s “woo” and weird little kick move. And Paul looks so fond, of course. 

God bless Mal for stalling those little fucks as long as humanly possible. And Debbie! “Don’t actually go on the roof because it’s overweight.” Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss!

Absolutely LOVE John and George turning their amps back on. That’s right. You guys are what’s keeping the country going at this point, so if you want to play on your roof they better let you play on your roof and say thank you.

All the times when they just simultaneously turn to each other. Like, yes, this is our que to stare hungrily into each other’s eyes. 

My stomach just dropped at those words across the screen. “This was the Beatles’ last public performance.” We know, Peter Jackson. You don’t have to remind us. Jeez. 

John and Paul’s two very different but equally important leadership roles in the band at work here at the end of the concert. John delivers his iconic line, makes everyone laugh, and seals the band’s last performance with a very tight bow. Meanwhile, Paul’s climbing the gate to bypass the crowd and schmooze the police out of arresting Mal. 

THIS is sooo cute. Heads buried together and John’s very sweet, “‘s’matter? Hmm?” 

George is so cute here in the control room afterward. No wonder they don’t listen to his not wanting to do things, honestly, if he acts like this after. “What’s the law say why you can’t do that? Well how disturbing the peace? Yeah, I’m for taking over London. And every rock group in the world all on different buildings, playing the same tune.” Adorable.

Poor John. It breaks my heart that he doesn’t think his little lyric flub is funny. He’s disappointed in himself. I wish he could see that that’s one of the things everyone loves about him. George was grinning ear to ear about it. For fuck’s sake, that’s one of the reasons Paul fell in love with you in the first place. If only John could see himself the way we see him, you know? 

This little moment cracks me up. John always has to be mommy’s naughty little boy, and Yoko does a very sweet job of playing her part here. 

Linda and Paul are so touchy and clingy and it’s very romantic and I love that Ringo joins in and makes fun of them.   

The whole after-show glow for everyone was just so palpable and fantastic. I wish they could've gone on performing together. Clearly it made all of them very happy.

[hopeluna-archived]

A true love's kiss will solve it!

♡ Obey Me! Characters as fairy tale tropes

♡ Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Satan x gn!reader

♡ Genre: fluff, bit of angst?, fantasy AU

♡ A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for literally ages and like i'm not even sure if this is good, also this got longer than I intended it to oop- but I hope you enjoy!

M.list

Lucifer

The eldest prince with a closed heart

Being the eldest has its responsibilities. Lucifer had to make sure his brothers weren't causing chaos, had to inquire and see through the kingdom's welfare and had to be the image of absolute perfection.

But he was tired. Tired of acting like a trophy, tired of getting no time to himself to have fun, tired of maintaining this facade of a statue. And mostly, tired of never getting the chance of being vulnerable and showing emotion.

He acted like he didn't care. But he did. He cared when his brothers would often talk about how much of a headache he was, unaware of him standing behind the door.

He knew that it was his fault. His pride didn't let him show his family affection and it didn't let him open his heart to anyone.

But then you showed up. A traveler who set foot upon his kingdom and on the first day, managed to literally bump into him in the market.

At first, Lucifer was annoyed at you for disrupting him. But he simply took a look at your attire, which confirmed you were foreign and walked by you.

He almost forgot about you after that encounter. Almost. He spotted you once again, a few days later, in a different market, looking around the stalls curiously. Lucifer turned away making his way home, once again ignoring the thought of you.

But it was as if something grabbed a hold of his mind and he found himself returning back to the markets almost everyday in hopes of seeing you.

And after two days, he saw you once again. And as if you could feel his gaze, you turned as both your eyes met. He found it oddly endearing how your eyes lit up in recognition, waving a hand at him with a smile on your face.

And as he watched you come over to him, strike up a conversation, he was hesitant. But as the days grew, so did your meetings. He found himself smiling more and more, feeling warm at the thought of you.

And maybe you were crazy for not being intimidated by him and maybe he was crazy for willing to talk to you. And maybe he let you slip in through the cracks of the walls around his closed heart.

Mammon

The merchant from far away

Mammon had been through kingdoms full of riches, lores, history, all kinds of people and much more. But he didn't care much for all of it, only the riches. Like a crow with an eye, he was good at knowing where his profits would be, where he would get rare items to sell.

But never did he think that visiting a certain kingdom would be a life changing matter for him when something caught his eye more than gold.

He wouldn't even be in your small kingdom if it wasn't for him losing some bet to his brothers and now he was here, wandering around in the markets, bored out of his mind when he spotted you.

You in your big hooded scarf, trying and failing, to blend in with the crowd. Well you were quite blending in with the crowd but Mammon had oddly spotted you amongst all the people.

He watched as you looked through people and stalls, often cautiously glancing back as if you were expecting for someone to lunge at you.

You were on high alert as you scanned the crowd and Mammon probably should've looked away 'cause when your eyes fell on his intense gaze on you, you froze like a child who had just been caught stealing fruit.

And as you looked away and made your way to another street, Mammon felt a pang of guilt 'cause he really didn't mean to creep you out. The next day is when you two meet.

Mammon was strolling down another part of the market when a jewellery shop caught his eye. Getting so caught up as he gazed lovingly at the shop, he failed to notice the figure he had bumped into.

Both of you froze as your eyes met and Mammon swore those were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. This, of course, caused him to blush and he exclaimed out a quite rude "watch were yer going, will ya?!"

And in his head he slapped himself in the face as he watched a frown take over your features, watched as you huffed angrily, and watched as you walked past him, bumping his shoulder along the way.

And he didn't know why he found himself calling out for you as his feet carried him towards you. As you turned around, like he's body was working on his own, he stuttered out a apology, with exaggerated hand gestures and blushing cheeks.

So when you quirked an eyebrow at him before telling him it was okay, he felt a fraction of his quilt being washed away.

And from then on, you two met more often and often as a friendship grew and the friendship blossomed into something more.

Before, Mammon would exchange anything for gold and money to satisfy his greed but now holding you in his arms, he knows that he wouldn't exchange this for anything in the world

Satan

The rebellious prince who longs for something more

Satan hated it. He hated how everyone in this godforsaken kingdom hid their sinister intentions behind smiles, he hated how they all pretended to be companions and yet judged each other with cynical views. And most of all, he hated how he did the same thing.

Everyone around him was telling him what to do and what not to do, the court telling him what he was meant to be, the visitors from other kingdoms desperately trying to create an alliance with him with things like friendships, gifts and marriages.

He felt like he was trapped. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do that. He had people tell him what he has to be, not letting him choose. It was suffocating. And the only place, the only escape he found from all this, was a beautiful clearing in a small forest not too far away from the castle. A plush bed of grass with flowers scattered here and there, and a small river running beside it.

He would often ignore some of his "duties", pick up a few books and head to the place to clear his mind alone in peace. So he was shocked to say the least, when he had once again made his way there, only to find a figure by the tree he sits under.

He watched from afar as you hummed to yourself while looking up at the sky with a soft smile. Satan, for the first time felt completely enthralled by your soothing voice and smile.

But he quickly made his way back with a shake of the head. He would just come back another day and you would be gone and all would be normal.

And so the next day came, and Satan was wondering around the palace halls having left his clingy attendents who were hell bent on making him choose a suitor.

He scoffed lightly as he thought back to it, when he's gaze fell on you, carrying a tray of plates into the kitchen. You, the person who had taken his place by the river. As he glanced inside the kitchen, careful to not make his presence known, he saw you, chatting away with some other maids.

So you were a worker here, how had he never noticed you? He was usually so sharp at observing everyone who was in the palace.

Nonetheless, he went on his way, back to his room but now with the lingering want of knowing more about you on his mind.

A few days later, he had once again decided to go to the river to escape from his troubles and once again he had to found you there, now picking some flowers. Only this time, he made the decision to talk to you.

And he would be lying if he didn't say your shocked and flustered expression on seeing him was more than amusing. When he asked you what you were doing here, you replied that you had stumbled upon this place and found it to be very calming.

For the first few weeks, he would talk to you but only for a little while. But he found himself wanting to know more about you, to talk to you and he found himself doing just that.

And suddenly when he found himself softly kissing you under that same tree he first saw you under, a warm feeling spread in his chest and he realized, maybe he doesn't hate it all.

───────────

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!! Do not repost or claim as yours though, its not cool.

[cookienha]

☆ guy from the dreams

¦ ricky x gn!reader, fluff

¦ warnings: -

¦ a/n: -

The flower garden was vast and beautiful, the contrasting colours a riot that seemed to dance in the gentle breeze.

Walking hand in hand with him through the garden felt like a scene from a fairy tale, our laughter blending with the sweet melody of chirping birds.

As he recounted the story of his friend locking him out of his apartment, I found myself getting lost in the way his eyes sparkled with amusement. His words were like music to my ears, even though my mind occasionally drifted to admiring his side profile.

Caught in a moment of distraction, I realized he had noticed my gaze.

"What are you looking at? Is there something on my face?" He chuckled, his voice bringing me back to the present.

I couldn't help but giggle at his playful inquiry, shaking my head before leaning in to plant a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek before skipping ahead, my heart feeling lighter than ever.

"Hey!" He called out, a hint of shyness in his tone, quickly catching up to match my pace.

The weather was perfect that day, the sun casted a warm glow on everything it touchrf, the breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, the sound of the birds singing along, and the shrill sound of my shrieking alarm clock— wait, alarm clock?

I gasped in surprise as the alarm persisted, my eyes fluttering open to the reality of my bedroom.

With a disappointed sigh, I reached out to silence the alarm, letting the remnants of the dream linger in my mind for a moment longer. The morning sun peeked through the blinds, creating stripes of light and shadow in the room, filling it with a soft, golden glow.

"It was just a dream," I mumbled, rolling my eyes and wanting to stay cocooned in my bed forever, snuggling deeper into the warmth of my blanket.

But fate had other plans.

The doorbell rang loudly, disrupting my sleepy reverie. "Who could be here so early?" I groaned, practically dragging myself out of bed and stumbling towards the door, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Who is it?" I called out groggily as I swung the door open, my heart skipping a beat when I saw the person standing there.

"Good morning, ma'am." He smed in a way that was surprisingly familiar, momentarily catching me off-guard. "A package arrived for you. I just need you to sign here, and we're good to go," He said politely.

I blinked, my gaze fixed on his face before slowly trailing down to his nametag — Ricky Shen.

The realization slowly dawned on me, a mix of disbelief and curiosity flooding my senses. 'Isn't he the guy from my dreams?'

[bro-atz]

rooftop philosophy

in which: all hunter wants is a place to eat his lunch peacefully, but you disrupt the peace

pair: hunter/gn!reader

word count: 2k

content: fluff, a lot of unpopular opinions, slight heartbreak, kissing, teasing, and a box of chocolates?

apply for the permanent taglist here!

Hunter never thought that he’d have to share his safe place. He discovered that the roof was always unlocked one day by accident because he ran to the top of the stairs and tripped, his hand pushing the door open. He was running away from club recruiters that day. The school’s club fest was going on, and each booth tried to grab him before the other one could, hence the running away. Hunter was popular, and he knew that and he didn’t hate it, but he wasn’t a huge fan of all of the attention either. He needed a place he could go to and decompress in the middle of the school day.

So, when you showed up, he was flabbergasted. He was pretty careful about coming to the roof. All of his friends knew that he would go some place else to have lunch— they assumed with his significant other or something— and they all respected his privacy. You, on the other hand, were not close with Hunter in the slightest. You noticed every day around lunch time that he would sneak off somewhere, and one day, you decided to follow him all the way up to the roof.

The boy reluctantly shared his space with you because he was nice but also because he was scared that you were going to tell someone about the fact that the doors to the roof were unlocked and then the school would lock the doors and he’d have to find a new place. You, however, did not know this fear. You just wanted to enjoy the air outside, and the only times to do that were either during gym class or lunch.

You weren’t one to talk much in class, but you loved talking to your friends. You didn’t know if you could consider Hunter your friend on that kind of level, but talking to him was easy because he would just sit and eat his lunch in peace and occasionally agree with you while you talked about all the things in the world that concerned you, most of them being unpopular opinions.

“I still don’t get why people say money can’t buy happiness,” you started one day. “Money can totally buy happiness. My neighbors were really upset with their grandma died, and two weeks later, they were happy because they bought a dog. A dog. That’s literally buying happiness.”

Hunter nodded slightly in agreement, but you didn’t notice.

“I can’t make myself happy without spending money nowadays. No one can. If you want cheer up by eating chocolate or something, you have to buy it, right? That’s buying happiness. Little kids always want stuffed animals or toys, and when they’re sad, parents usually buy something to make them happy. That’s also buying happiness! Whoever said money can’t buy happiness is stupid.”

You continued talking while Hunter cleaned up the wrappers around him— he was pretty much done eating.

“The quote came from 1750 or something, so it makes sense for then, but now? Money is happiness. Material wealth is tied to happiness, and you can quote me on that.”

The bell rang. The unspoken agreement between the two of you was that you would head back to the classroom first, then him a couple minutes later. It’s not that he didn’t want to be caught with you, but he didn’t want his hiding spot being found, and if people thought you two were together, then it meant risking the discovering of his spot.

“Fairy tales are horrible if you really think about it. They tell you that there’s always a good person and an evil person and that you’re either one or the other. Fables are where it’s at. Those have lessons and morals, and more humanizing. Give me a lesson over a conquest any day.”

“Christmas is not the best holiday. Halloween is. We should be celebrating Halloween and having that day off to work on our costumes and enjoy the weather before it gets freezing cold outside.”

“Trying to put sweet and salty things in the same snack is gross and doesn’t work. They should come together but be packed separately so we can balance the flavors the way we want to.”

You would come upstairs with a new opinion everyday, and Hunter would listen to your opinions everyday.

As the school year progressed, there was one boy in Hunter’s friend group that caught your attention: Junghoon. Every time you saw him, your heart would flutter. He was always smiling and always laughing, and you knew that you didn’t stand a chance with him because of how immensely popular he was with the rest of the student body. Until…

“Forgetting to hit send on a message really does happen! Why do people automatically assume that it’s a white lie?! I literally forgot to hit submit on my homework last night, and now I have detention. I swear, I did the work…”

The bell rang. Hunter got up, and you left first. Same as usual. When you stayed back in school that day to serve your detention, you ended up getting to spend it with Junghoon, who was also in detention for the same reason as you. 

“I do this all the time,” Junghoon sighed as he admitted to you. “I just suck at responding and pressing buttons. I’ll have something I want to ask someone and have it all typed out, but when they don’t respond, I get upset, and then check my messages to see that I never sent the damn thing. So annoying.”

“Haha, tell me about it,” you said as you stared dreamily at him. That was also the shortest sentence you said that day.

It made you so happy that your opinion was actually a fact that was proven by Junghoon, but it also made you happy that you got to spend time with him.

You never stopped thinking about Junghoon after that day. You fell for him. Hard. You were planning on confessing to him for Valentine’s Day because, as far as you could tell, he was single, no one else was in pursuit of him, and there was no harm in trying.

What a lie. There was totally harm in trying. You got him a cute little box of chocolates and waited for him before school in front of the gates. You were going to pull him aside and hand him the box of chocolates then confess, but before you could even do that, you saw Junghoon walk towards the gate hand in hand with another student in your class. You wanted to lie to yourself again and say that they were just friends, but then when you saw them hug and kiss, your world came crashing down. You quickly shuffled your way back to the school building, shoved the chocolates back into your bag, and sat at your desk.

Your eyes were misty for the first half of the day, but as the day progressed, your sadness morphed into humor as a defense mechanism then into cynicism. By the time you got to lunch, you justified to yourself why someone like Junghoon was totally out of your reach.

“Here’s the thing, Hunter,” you started with your lecture the second the rooftop door closed behind you. “Things are beautiful. People are beautiful. The world is beautiful. But! Not everything is beautiful. Not everyone is beautiful. The entire world is not beautiful.”

You plopped down on the ground next to him. He continued eating, you continued talking— lunch as per usual.

“I wonder what it must be like to be beautiful. I imagine those people are always, “oh my God, being beautiful is so hard! My life is so tragic!” and then they’re just sweating sparkles and gold and you’re annoyed with them because living a beautiful life is nothing. Nothing! They don’t have to work for anything! Things just fall into their hands.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow because this was a different rant for once.

“I will never know that feeling because I’m not beautiful,” you explained. “People are attracted to and love beautiful things… And I am not one of them.”

“Y/N, shut up,” Hunter said— he had never, ever said anything during your rants or lectures, but this time was different because the rant was different.

“What? It is true. Beautiful things, beautiful people— no one can resist them. Meanwhile, me? I’m not someone’s first choice, and I’m not really a choice anyone considers because I’m not beautiful or even pretty. I’m just… Okay. I’m mid. I’m aight. Not attractive, just aight.”

“Stop it, Y/N.”

“What’s your deal? Since when do you care about what I talk about? You usually just ignore me, anyway.”

“No, I don’t.”

“See? You don’t care—”

“I do care, Y/N,” Hunter interrupted. “And I don’t ignore you. I always listen to everything you say and stay quiet because I usually agree, but right now? Right now, you’re so wrong.”

“Huh? Wrong about what? Liking beautiful things? Do you not like beautiful things?”

“I do, but that’s not what I’m taking about. You’re not just okay, you’re not mid… I’d say you’re aight, but you’re beautiful, too.”

You stared at Hunter for a solid minute before bursting out laughing. He had such a serious look on his face, and he made the funniest joke with that straight face of his. “That’s a funny joke, Hunter. You should be a comedian,” you said while wiping tears from your eyes.

Hunter’s face didn’t even flinch, causing you to laugh all over again. His stone face was incredible. You continued to laugh, but he still didn’t laugh; he didn’t even smile because he wasn’t joking.

“Hunter, you don’t have to lie to make me laugh and feel better, but thanks for that. I needed it.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Wait, but wasn’t the joke the fact that it’s a lie? See, wait. Let me look it up…” You took your phone out and typed quickly pulling up the definition of the word. “Okay, it says here that beautiful means “pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically, and of a very high standard,” and that definition is definitely not—”

Hunter couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed your wrist and moved your phone away from your face before pressing his lips firmly against yours. Your eyes went wide, only for you to squeeze your eyes shut when you felt Hunter’s other hand move to the back of your head and hold you gently, his lips leaving an additional kiss, then two, then more until your phone slipped out of your hand. You were completely flabbergasted when he finally stopped and moved back, your eyes staring into his.

“W-wh-what…?” For once, you had no words.

“Now you listen, and let me talk,” he said gently. “Originally, I let you come up here because I didn’t want to lose the access to the roof. I was slightly annoyed at first because I wanted to eat my lunch in peace, but every day, you come up here with something new to talk about, and I’m always intrigued and entertained.”

“I had no—”

“Shut up, I’m not done,” Hunter held a finger to your lips. “I like your company, Y/N, and I like you, so it kills me to hear you say those kinds of things about yourself. So, stop it.”

You stared at Hunter, eyes wide, jaw dropped. 

“I always care about everything you say and think and do, Y/N. If I didn’t, I would have made you stop talking like I did today.”

Hunter let go of your hand and moved away from you while you were still shellshocked. Your mind was blank for once, until a tiny intrusive thought entered your head.

“I have a question,” you told him.

“What is it?”

“So, if I say things you don’t agree with, will you make me stop talking?”

“Yes.”

“Would you make me stop talking the way you did just now?”

Hunter took a second to process the question before going hot red in the face. He let out a couple of empty noises before looking away from you, steam literally rising from the top of his head because of how embarrassed he was. You had to stifle a laugh as you watched him react to your genuine inquiry.

“Love isn’t a choice,” you teased him. “You only like me because you spend so much time with me.”

“Y/N—”

“You just don’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

“I swear to God—”

“You just want me to give you a box—”

Just as he said, Hunter shut you up, and he shut you up by kissing you again. You couldn’t help but giggle as his soft lips encompassed yours and his fingers tickled your neck and cheek. You kissed him back, suppressing the urge to smile in between each one. It was only when the bell rang that the two of you separated, a slow exhale leaving your lips as he moved away. A small smile settled on your face as Hunter looked away shyly, his face a light shade of pink. You stood up and helped him clean up before heading to the rooftop doors.

“I’ll head down first,” you told him.

Just as you took one step down, you felt him grab your wrist. You turned to look at him, his face still pink, and his eyes barely able to maintain contact with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Um… You said something about a box…”

“What, you want me to give you a box of chocolates?” you asked with a snicker.

“I wouldn’t be opposed…” he mumbled.

“Okay, I’ll give you the box… Tomorrow.”

You shuffled down the stairs while laughing to yourself, and as you turned to take the second set of stairs down, you looked up to see Hunter with a huge grin on his face. He, like you, couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.

[nobodyfamousposts]

why is everyone always hyping up Ms. Mendeleev as this amazing teacher who takes no bull when she really isn’t? in evil illustrator, Mendeleev sees Chloe picking on Nathaniel and even physically rips his sketch book out of his hands and embarrasses him in front of everyone. but not only is Mendeleev more focused on him drawing in class, she only scolds Chloe but doesn’t punish her for being disruptive. in Marinette’s flashback, when Marinette arrives to class late looking downtrodden, she yells at her in front of everyone instead of waiting until the end of class to talk to Marinette privately. she doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, she doesn’t shut down Chloe’s offensive comments about “looking more depressed than usual” and “she wants to design clothes but can’t keep hers clean”, and she yells at Marinette for accusing Chloe of putting paint on her seat by stating that she had no basis to do so. this woman sure does yell a lot doesn’t she? Mendeleev has zero empathy for her students and has no business being a teacher. if we’re going to call out Damocles and Bustier, she deserves a call out as well.

No no, you have a point. I find I want to argue with you because I'm one of those who likes Mendeleiev substantially more compared to the other teachers, but that's just it: when compared to the other teachers.

Other than Damocles as the Principal, Mendeleiv is one of only three teachers we've been introduced to in the whole of the series. Well, until the Art teacher in season three, but even he has the same issues as Bustier and Damocles of admonishing the other students while saying nothing against Chloe.

Chloe issues aside, Bustier's teaching methods are "nice", but notably useless and not age appropriate. She was shown teaching the class about a fairy tale, and not even a specific one. Just about how a Prince saves a Princess with a kiss, with "true love" being the lesson rather than the literary implications or analysis in what I can only assume is a literature class.

Then there's D'Argencourt, and do I really need to get into this guy?

So I think part of the reason here is that of the very few teachers we've gotten any focus on, Mendeleiev is the only one who has actually ACTED like a teacher. Not the nicest teacher, no, but at least A teacher.

She was admittedly harsh in how she went about things with her students, but she had valid points and reasoning behind what she did.

Nathaniel in Evilustrator was drawing in science class, a subject he is struggling in.

Rose was spraying perfume in class without consideration to the hazards it could cause. Someone could have a health issue. Plus...y'know...the canon problem of the perfume being VERY FLAMMABLE.

And she's the only teacher who has at any point at least scolded Chloe for her behavior. Which given how everyone seems to bend over backwards to appease her or admonish her victims, that's saying something.

Plus out of all the school staff who have been akumatized, Mendeleiev had the most sympathetic reason. Then there's her aborted storyline in the New York Special. So she comes off as a teacher who wants to be liked and do right by her students, even if her way of going about her interactions seems harsh, and I think that's the aspect that the fans have taken notice of.

It stands to reason we've all had a teacher like her in our lives. Strict. No nonsense. Didn't let us get away with anything. And it also stands to reason that having that teacher in real life made us dread that class.

So yes, Mendeleiev is no saint. But she at least IS a teacher who ACTS like a teacher. A strict teacher who takes no excuses and seems more impartial (at least when compared with Damocles and Bustier who make it quite obvious they're under Chloe's thumb even if it's in different ways and for different reasons). She could do with some education on empathy and communicating with her students. But she's still at least doing her job as an educator to teach them.

At least until the writers ruin her just like they ruin everything else because they saw what the fandom came up with and decided we can't have nice things.

[violettduchess]

Cyran gangster spice ^^

A/N: Here you go, anon! I hope you like it!

Cyran x Reader, Gangster AU/ Gangster x Doctor AU

TW: blood, injury, needles

WC:~2.2 k

The ringing cracks the silence of your darkened bedroom like a sledgehammer on ice. You push yourself up, still bleary with sleep, one hand fumbling through the gloom for your phone which should be sleeping too, well-behaved and quiet on your nightstand. It takes another second of angry ringing before you realize it’s not your personal phone. It’s the other phone. The one in the top drawer, rattling the items inside of it as it vibrates in time to the ringing, demanding attention. The phone you don’t want to hear going off, especially not in the heart of nighttime.

Sleep evaporates like frost on a sunny morning as you yank the drawer open and grab the small, nondescript black device. Caller unknown. But you know who it is. Only one person has this number.

“Hello?” Your voice is fuzzy with sleep.

“Good evening. Does your store sell copies of fairy tales? I’m looking for Little Red Riding Hood, the Rosenbrand edition. I hear there are only 10 copies left in circulation.”

Your heart sinks. Red Riding Hood means a serious injury, something bloody. Rosenbrand means the flower shop location. Ten copies means be there in 10 minutes.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong number.” The standard response. Your code for I’ll be there.

On the other end, the voice you know to be Nokto’s hangs up and you leap out of bed, changing into dark jeans and a black sweater, yanking open the closet to grab your medical kit and then you’re off, dashing out of your apartment and into the deceptively calm night.

You slip into the dark flower shop via the backdoor and immediately the velvet scent of roses overwhelms you. It is their specialty after all. And their symbol. Anywhere the Rhodolite Mafia goes, roses follow in their wake, their dark red petals scattered across crime scenes like little calling cards. Their members all bear the same rose tattoo on their bodies. You don’t have a tattoo. You’re not a member, officially but you are on their payroll and under their protection. So says the delicate golden rose and chain that hangs around your neck, resting against your heart.

You punch in the security code and a door at the back slides open, revealing a set of cement steps that lead down, down, down until you reach the bottom and step into the large room that the mafia uses for all medical emergencies. Your own private little examination room. And if necessary, OR.

For the second time that night, your heart stops. Laying back on the examination table is the one person whose name flashed through your mind like a neon sign the entire moonlit dash here, the one who you were silently hoping wouldn’t be your patient.

Cyran.

His shirt has been unbuttoned and he has bloodied gauze pressed against his arm, his dark eyes closed as he focuses on keeping pressure on his own wound. Clavis turns, golden eyes bright as an owl’s in the dim light.

“What happened?” Your tone is short, brisk. Every nerve in your body is on high alert as you pull on your latex gloves, moving towards Cyran.

“Blade, not a bullet.” Clavis steps back as you move in, the next steps of assessment as automatic to you as breathing. Cyran’s eyes open, only now aware you are there and you notice the flash of something across his features, some light in the depths of the fog of pain that he’s in. Your name passes his lips, a rough whisper.

“Altercation at the docks. Obsidian thugs thought they would be able to disrupt an important shipment.” Clavis’s phone chirps and he turns away from where you are working, removing Cyran’s shirt, cleaning up the bloody mess so you can get a better idea of what you’re dealing with.

You glance over your shoulder at him, the slight frown on his face as he reads whatever message he’s received.

“You ok, Lelouch?”

He fixes a bright smile on his face, but the light never reaches his eyes.

“I have to go.” No explanation. You are too low on the food chain for those. “Take good care of my right-hand man. I need him back in action soon and in one piece.”

You flick him a two-fingered salute and he nods, knowing Cyran is in good hands. As he jogs up the stairs, you hear him on his phone.

“....On my way, Chev….” The door at the top of the stairs closes with a heavy thunk and you are left alone with somewhat less bloody, very tense Cyran.

His shirt has been cast away, banished to a red and white heap on the floor which you casually kick to one side as you lean in to get a better look at his upper arm, where an ugly gash cuts across his deltoid. Reaching up to adjust the overhead lamp, you open your medical kit and begin the careful process of stitching the taunt skin back together. He hasn’t said a word since Clavis left, stoically staring straight ahead, intensely focused on the concrete wall opposite him.

Your head is bowed down, gaze following the rise and fall of your curved needle, the rational, medical part of your mind tightening its grip on the reins of your imagination. After all, there is an entire landscape of shirtless Cyran laid out in front of you. Curves of hard muscle that dip and bulge, secret places usually hidden by austere suits or leather jackets.

You’re close enough to hear the coarse sound of his inhale as you grip his arm. Clearing your throat you make an attempt to pierce the thick fog of tension that has settled over the room.

“Why is it always blades with you? Other members have the decency to just get shot.”

Your comment is so unexpected and honestly, so intentionally ludicrous that he turns his head involuntarily. Now his face is mere inches away from yours and you can feel his gaze on you as strongly as sunshine on a summer’s morning. And just like the sun, it brings a warmth to your cheeks that you hope he doesn’t notice.

He grunts as you finish suturing the injury, glancing down to take in your handiwork. You straighten up, adjusting your weight on the small padded stool you’ve been sitting on.

“And? Do I pass inspection, Mr. Rose?”

Something about the tone of your voice, an attempt at lightheartedness that skims over the jagged peaks of anxiety, has him finally meet your gaze and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“You always do, doc.”

Those words settle across your mind like a silken sheet across a bed. You’re about to pull off your gloves, searching for something to say when you notice the blood staining the top of his gray slacks.

“What’s this…..?” You lean forward, glancing at him for permission to reach into the hem of his pants and take a look. An expression you don’t expect crosses his face: he looks almost sheepish.

“I….I was involved in a scuffle last week.”

You motion for him to lower his pants, trying to ignore what the sight of Cyran’s large, rough hands pulling down his zipper does to your body temperature. He slides his pants down slowly, just low enough for you to be given a tantalizing glimpse of that alluring line where the obliques meet the transversus abdominis muscle.

Medical professionalism trumps lust as you take in the shoddy stitching at his hip.

“What quack did this?” You’re already preparing another needle and thread, brow furrowed in annoyance.

“I did it myself.”

You glance up sharply, hands pausing for a moment.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You return to the work of fixing his on-the-fly patch job. He’s silent a moment and you wait, knowing he heard you. It takes him until you’re nearly done to answer.

“You know I couldn’t.”

Your work is finished and yet somehow you can’t move you away, one hand resting on the hard plane of his lower stomach, the other pressed lightly under the wound you’ve just finished re-stitching. Slowly you tilt your head up to look at him. He’s backlit by the overhead lamplight, his red hair almost black because of it. Shadow falls across the angles of his face and all you can see clearly is the brightness of his eyes. As if pulled by a magnet, your upper body rises slowly, your face coming closer to his. Carefully, with every other part of you crystallized in place, you remove your gloves, then return your hands to where they were, touching the now warm skin of his body.

Your lips are scant inches apart and your heart slams into your breastbone as if urging you forward to close the gap.

Cyran’s beautiful eyes close and his head turns ever so slightly away from you.

“We can’t.” 

The words are tight in a way that tells you he doesn’t want to say them, that he’s forcing them out between clenched teeth.

Still so close, you breathe outward and you know he feels the warmth on his cheek. Your nose brushes his, your lips ache at how close they are to the paradise of his kiss.

“We already have,” you whisper in return, forgetting everything: the phone calls in the dead of night. The hiding in secret rooms tricked out with medical equipment. The heart-stopping anxiety every time you think you hear gunshots. All that you know right now is that he’s here, warm to your touch, so close you can count every individual eyelash.

His eyes flutter open and he meets your gaze.

“And it can never happen again.”

It’s there, in the depths of his soulful eyes. The memory of….

….that night, the one where he escorted you home under a black sky, raging with thunder and pent up clouds. Your skirt was stained with blood that wasn’t yours, your fingers trembling with a fear that definitely was. Your car, several streets away, gasping with bullet holes. Cyran had been there, had whisked you away in an armored vehicle and insisted on seeing you to your apartment, on coming inside and making sure everything was secure.

When he turned to go, every nerve in your body screamed at once at the loss. You launched yourself towards him, a wild bird in flight, and he had welcomed you into the sky of his arms, pulling you against the safety of his hard body. He held you until the trembling stopped.

And then the world exploded as the clouds released their pent-up rain and you had lifted yourself up to press your mouth to his. Cyran pushed his fingers into your hair with a groan, allowing himself to fall, a raindrop from heaven, a soul giving in, into you and your sweetness, your want, your heated kisses.

The wild storm had nothing on the two of you, that night. 

You see the way the memory is reaching for you both at once, has you both angling your heads so that only the slightest movement will have your mouths touch once again. Your lips actually hurt with need. Your body practically thrums with the desire to taste him again.

He shifts and suddenly the metal pan holding the needle and thread and gauze clatters to the ground, his thigh having bumped it off the table’s edge. The loud crash shatters the moment and you both jump apart, hearts racing. Cyran clears his throat, his head shaking as if waking himself from a dream. When he speaks, the same words you have heard too many times since that night fall from his lips.

His life is dangerous. 

You are already way too involved. 

The reality of being with him is nothing but heartache and worry. 

You need to remain as innocent and ignorant as possible, for plausibility, deniability, for your own damn safety. 

He could never live with himself if anything happened to you…..

The flow of words stops as you press your finger to his lips. A sigh like the storm-buffeted waves of the ocean escapes him, shaky and uninhibited. The touch turns into the kiss you’ve been hungering for, except it's not the crush of his mouth on yours, the stampede of desire come to call, but rather the softest press to your fingertip, the fleeting caress of a butterfly’s wing.

Your heart both sinks and lifts, a paradox of emotion flowing through you.

He turns his face into your hand, his usual stoicism bled out by the force of his feelings for you. Pain, longing, tenderness bow his shoulders, pull kiss after kiss from his lips to your palm. You slide your hand across the line of his cheekbone, thumb stroking the rough stubble there. And then you lean down, pressing a petal-soft kiss to his forehead. 

Cyran is still as a winter’s night, frozen despite the thundering of his heart. He knows this is for the best….but how much longer can he continue to do the right thing? 

You start to pull away, turning towards the stairs that lead up and away, back into the night and its bright, cold stars, when something clamps around your wrist, stopping you.

You turn to see him, eyes flashing with something hot and bright, his strong fingers wrapped around you, holding you. He whispers your name, an echo of the rough whisper from earlier, when he first realized you were there, and you capitulate, crumbling into the shelter of his embrace even as your mouths seek and find each other.

If not doing this, if not kissing you desperately, touching you, claiming you, if not doing these things is the right thing…..then Cyran is tired of it. 

Forget the right thing. He lives a life that blossoms in the shadows of right and wrong anyway. Right and wrong are shades of gray in his world. And now as he drags his mouth down the smooth line of your neck, revels in the sting of your fingernails digging into his shoulder, he knows that he can deny this, and you, no longer.

He sinks into dark temptation, caring for nothing other than right here and now.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @mastering-procrastinating @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @bubblexly @wordycheesecake

[liketwoswansinbalance]

The Stymphs' Symbolism and the Storian's Interference

All right, here's our equivalence:

The Stymphs = Fate

Ok, so, with the girls in book one:

Agatha and Sophie are carried off by a Stymph, and they are thrown into their respective schools. No choice. No say in the matter. They've lost their agency, completely.

They are mastered by a Stymph, by fate. Conquered.

Then, the shift happens. They become the masters of their own fate, in riding the Stymph, in steering on top of the Stymph, into the School Master's Tower.

By TLEA, again, their relationship to the Stymphs changes. They're a little beholden to them and fate, in becoming who they are. Fate and the particular Stymph's original actions, its involvement in their kidnapping, I mean, shaped them both, ultimately. The girls are also beholden to the Stymphs for helping them, by not obeying "Rafal" when they help the archer students and Merlin during the second Great War.

⸻

Then, for the prequels:

Who is master of the Stymphs? Rafal, of course.

Yet, Rhian is the "author of own misfortune," or fate.

Rafal is the original master of the Stymphs. In a way, Rafal was destined to become Fate, to become the Balance, had he managed to live long enough to be the One.

Because, he was about to be named the One True School Master, and through the Schools, he would have been master of the Woods' fate, been able to willfully control (or indirectly influence, through the curriculum, the students' educations, and how prepared they would have been, should their fairy tales begin) the fate of all the Woods, all its possible futurities, in theory, to an extent.

But, really, it's the Pen that is Fate, not Rafal himself, when it really comes down to the truth.

However, Rhian disrupted "fate," or the Storian's plans, by being the cause of his brother's death.

And, when he was left with the Stymphs he "inherited," he probably couldn't quite automatically rein them in. I think he had to tame them, or find a literal spell to mollify them with, to get them under his control. Probably symbolically because he was never meant to be Fate or the One in the first place.

And so, of course, Fate's attendants (the Stymphs) wouldn't have followed him willingly, at least, not right away because the ending simply wasn't meant to be, but just so happened to happen nonetheless. (I know the Stymphs' behavior actually must originate from the fact that Stymphs supposedly only like Evers, but I'm looking at this from an angle that's outside of the narrative, and I don't need to rely on the in-universe reasoning at the moment.)

Was there a line after the climax of Fall about this at all? About the Stymphs being disobedient toward Rhian or outright loud and unmanageable, or am I misremembering?

Anyway, Rhian became master of Fate, of the Woods, in becoming the sole School Master. But that only happened when there was no one else left to assume the role. He was the only option, sort of a second-choice. Or, possibly even third, when we consider Pan as the hypothetical third candidate to be the One. Rhian was the default, sadly enough, the lone, surviving one. He wasn't even meant to be School Master, the rightful One, yet he had to be chosen. The Storian was compelled to because there was no one else.

Thus, the "ownership" of the Stymphs and of Fate was transferred over to Rhian.

And remember, once, Rhian was Fate's personal punching bag. He suffered a lot, for his naivete, and from some external causes, like Hook and Vulcan, sort of, even if he was wrongly influenced by the end of it all. And yes, while many events were partly his fault, they also may not have been. The plot could have been the result of very poor happenstance and intersections of the times the brothers lived in, as, we can observe all the turbulence in Rise, during that one particular school year.

⸻

Oh! And I wonder if the Stymphs forevermore missed Rafal, their original master? Did they show any signs of missing him? I'm not sure.

But, I am sure that they knew Rhian replaced Rafal because they can read souls, tell them apart, they way they seemed to instinctually read Agatha's, Sophie's, and Aladdin's souls, to know which Schools they belonged to.

I don't think there's any direct evidence of the Stymphs' mourning though. Did they ever screech, or cry out, as if in pain, like deprived animals? I suppose I could imagine that plausibly happening, with how they were left behind...

[heckcareoxytwit]

In this AU, the Spider-Man characters are the Fairy Tale characters. Princess Petra as Spintress is the gender-flipped version of Peter Parker while Merry James Watson the bard is the gender-flipped version of Mary Jane Watson. Also, in the Fairy Tale AU, the male musician is the dude in distress instead of the usual tiresome princess damsel in distress cliche. Kraven the Huntsman is the Fairy Tale AU version of Kraven the Hunter. Bishop Octopus is the AU version of Doctor Octopus except that he's not a villain yet. Vulture is a literal vulture but big and green. Norma the Fairy Gob-Mother is an unpredictable gender-flipped version of Norman Osborn.

Here, Merry James Watson is kidnapped by Kraven the Huntsman so that he could lure Spinstress into his hideout. Spintress races to the hideout to fight Kraven and save her boyfriend. While fighting Kraven, Norma the Fairy Gob-Mother appears in the battle to help Petra but rather for sinister purpose. After beating Kraven, Petra reunites with James only for Norma to appear and disrupt the couple. Both Petra and James smash the special orb before Norma could get her hands on it.

Edge of Spider-Verse v3 #2, 2023